


bathe you in the light of day

by karnsteins



Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [7]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, College Years for Ponyboy, Domestic Fluff, Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston Live, M/M, a shift key? i don't know her, omega ponyboy curtis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins
Summary: he likes a morning like this, when he's slick and dallas is biting his shoulders and neck. he loves it, even when dallas is fucking him into the bed, hands grasping his, his sharp teeth sinking into pony's skin.it's a damn good start to a lazy saturday.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston
Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969333
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	bathe you in the light of day

it's rare for ponyboy to wake up on a saturday now without school or work tugging at him. this saturday is a rare one where neither of them are waiting for him and as dallas' leg slips further between his, nose pressing at the base of his neck, his scent washing over him, he wants to savor it. he still feels like he's got a little bit of a leftover cold rattling around in his chest, and dallas' warmth keeps him feeling grounded, good here in bed. 

he drifts between sleep and wakefulness more than once--the third time, he thinks, is when he feels dallas' hand drifting past his waistband and has no clue when he fell asleep again, only that he wakes up gasping and moaning into the pillow as dallas finishes him off, hand firmly around his cock. he can't think, bucking against his hand, and by the time ponyboy comes back to himself, dallas is pulling off pony's boxers insistently. 

he hasn't even said good morning. it's so like him. 

who was pony to complain, though? he likes a morning like this, when he's slick and dallas is biting his shoulders and neck. he loves it, even when dallas is fucking him into the bed, hands grasping his, his sharp teeth sinking into pony's skin. 

it's a damn good start to a lazy saturday. 

"you going to make me breakfast?" dallas strokes pony's stomach and laughs when pony kicks him in response.

"it's our breakfast, you lazy ass," he yawns and wipes at his eye, casting around. "it'd be easier if i had my glasses though." 

dallas sits up, expression half of a sneer. "think you need a strap on these, you always forget where you put them." it's not a real gripe, not when dallas stands up in all revealing glory to grasp the glasses off of the stack of books beside the bed. he hands them to ponyboy easily, "barely remembered to take them off last night."

hooking them on, pony squints up at him. "i did?" 

"yeah, you fell asleep halfway through," dallas gives a smirk that's always been a shot of pride for pony. "i had to drag you to bed off the couch." he stretches a bit, coming around the bed, heading to the shower. "you should stay in today, before you get sick again." 

there's an edge there, nervous and concerned. he doesn't mention to dallas that was the plan all along. instead, he follows him into the bathroom, getting a towel to clean up enough, brushing his teeth while bumping elbows with dallas, and eventually dodging a snapping towel to throw on one of dally's sweatshirts and a pair of his own jeans. 

the scent of dallas' clothes alone calms him more than anything, and with an inhale and exhale, he decides that breakfast will be eggs, bacon, grits, and some spam. 

it feels a lot like being back at home with darry and soda as he sets about breakfast, putting on a pot for boiled eggs for himself and rounding up a few more to crack into the pan for dallas. the bacon's already on, and the grits are coming along fine when he pulls out the spam. 

he half expects someone to bang in through the door here, even though this house is messier than his house had ever been and it's tucked in a part of town a shade rougher than home. the door stays locked here, rather than open for any friend to come in here. in fact, none of ponyboy's friends know where he lives; he's always made it a point to go to their places when he could partially because he liked having the place for himself, he liked having it with dallas -- and partially because of dallas. 

it was their space. not anyone else's. even putting aside alpha instincts, ponyboy liked this place here with dallas, messy and maybe not the best. but it was theirs. 

it takes time to cut up the spam, throwing it in the skillet. he fumbles for the radio, turning it on to fill up some of the silence as he moves through it. there's a tug in his mind to get on some of the work he has due, but ponyboy ignores it. he'd rather stay in today, even if it meant mostly sleeping or reading. 

his knuckle moves up to nudge his glasses further up his nose, thinking of the books they'd (really he) had left around the house with varying bookmarks. there are a couple of options -- and he thinks that finishing _the lion, the witch and the wardrobe_ is on the top of the list. it's lighter than the other books they have, and ponyboy finds himself excited to see what dallas would think of the resurrection of aslan. 

he turns the heat down on the grits right when dallas walks out of their room -- the light catches his hair, turns it white for a moment as dallas plucks up a pack of cigarettes. he rolls them into his sleeve, and tugs his jeans up a little more as he slinks his way to pony. 

instinctively, ponyboy finds himself looking up at dally, and meeting him halfway for what was a good morning kiss. not long, not short. it's a kiss that always happens a bit like this, in the kitchen or before pony leaves, dallas' fingers sinking into him demandingly, uncaring for anything else except a moment between them, like this. 

it's a moment, a feeling of not quite joy and not quite something as simple as contentment. there is love in it, not the kind reflected in movies or books. the heroes usually don't have the same urge to sink themselves in like dallas does and ponyboy knows that usually, someone like dallas, so cold, so violent and acerbic with others could ever be really be seen the same way ponyboy sees him. 

reality is more complicated than that. reality is where he and dallas exist in their own simplicity that was for them. not other people. they wouldn't understand the comfort of dallas' jacket on his shoulders, even if it wasn't wrapped up in his scent. they wouldn't get what it felt like to know that with dallas, where they lived didn't matter so much as being together. they wouldn't get what it was like, being held not just with hands but claws too, to be so needed that even a mere grip had to be so much tighter than anything else. 

maybe he might have the words for it. 

not now. not when dallas pulls back, arm around pony's waist and croons, nosing right beneath ponyboy's ear, where he'd bitten down so many years ago. not when his tongue follows, making ponyboy momentarily forget he's got food cooking. 

he considers turning the stove off and continuing from before. only briefly before he huffs out, "i can't burn the spam again, dal." 

dallas snickers. 

the spam comes out fine, with no help from dallas in that department. it gets all scraped into plates between them, with dallas pulling out the cake and putting a slice on a plate for pony that goes beside everything else. pony diligently leaves it for last, digging into the grits and spam first. it's not bad at all, and it's clear dallas likes it when he goes back for a second helping pretty quick. 

the morning stretches on like that: dallas takes care of the dishes with him, flicking water at him over the sink; ponyboy manages to field a quick call from soda about spring break plans, and by the time noon rolls around, he's sprawled on the couch, one leg on the floor, dallas lying against his lap as he reads. 

he's read this at least five times already, and it never bores him, the way that the girls beg to go with aslan to his death, the way the scene rolls out as aslan goes before them all to be killed. it's riveting, and the only thing that's not so fun about is that with the way they're on the couch, pony has to pay more attention to the book than on dallas' face as he reads. not that dallas won't tell him his opinion when it's over -- part of the charm was getting to talk to him about it. 

the final line of the chapter, he reads outloud more quietly than the rest, with the seriousness it deserves, " 'the children did not see the actual moment of the killing. They couldn’t bear to look and had covered their eyes,'" ponyboy earmarks the chapter there, pulling it down to look down at dallas, who it seems hasn't done more than listen, hadn't fidgeted or complained. 

dallas looks back at him, expression contemplative. he looks at ponyboy, and the noon light seems to make the scar on the inside of his wrist look a little more stark as he reaches up to tug at the book. "don't stop there! finish it! there's no way that he stays dead." 

pony cracks a grin at him, "what makes you think that?" 

a sneer crosses dallas' face and he could have said absolutely anything in that moment and ponyboy wouldn't have minded at all. it's such a dallas expression -- the disdain mixed with the confidence that he'd be right, the way his teeth looked extra sharp in the light, the way his mouth pulled in such a way that it could be mistaken for ugly on anyone else's face but not his. the urge to kiss him overwhelmed whatever opinion he's about to have. 

so ponyboy does it, leaning over to kiss him before dallas can speak, forgetting the book for now. dallas' opinions on aslan's whereabouts, on the plot could just wait a bit while he kissed him. 

they had all day to talk, to bicker, and he just wants to kiss him like this, feeling dallas' hand reach up for his hair, pull him that much closer. when they part, he leans back against the couch, and dallas sits up instead of staying down. one arm wraps itself around ponyboy's waist, the grin on his face sharp and wolvish in how hungry it is.

ponyboy only has so much time to gasp out, "fuck, i love you." the kiss dallas gives him is bruising, and ponyboy decides that the rest of the book can wait. his saturday was better spent like this, being devoured.

**Author's Note:**

> one lazy saturday for these two. comment, kudos, come holler at me over at tumblr!


End file.
